Hello, world! This blog began on September 28, 2007, and so far nobody has come looking for me with tar and feathers.
On my honor, I will do my best not to bore you. All comments are welcome as long as your discourse is civil and your language is not blue.

Happy reading, and come back often!

And whether my cup is half full or half empty, fill my cup, Lord.

Copyright 2007 - 2017 by Robert H.Brague

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

On April 10, 1910...

...this lovely lady was born in Jenkintown, Pennsylvania:

(click on the photo to enlarge)

She was Ruth Elizabeth Silberman Brague, my mother.

The photo is around 80 years old now. It was taken in the 1930s when my mother was in her twenties, before she met my father.

If she were still alive, she would turn 103 today.

Unfortunately, she died on October 4, 1957, in Fort Worth, Texas, at the age of 47.

8 comments:

A lovely tribute, RWP. I have a similar, if not quite so glamorous, photograph of my mother, who was born in 1901. They had "class," they did.

My brother, who died in 1969, also was born on April 10 (1941). I spoke with my sister yesterday, as we are wont to do on every occasion of his birthdate. We cannot imagine him at age 72; he will forever be 28 years old in our minds' eyes.

Pat, thanks for commenting. I thought I remembered, as I was composing this post, that April 10 was also your brother's birthday. I'm glad I remembered correctly. I know what you mean -- Mama will never be older than 47 to me.

More thanks go out to Katherine,Yorkshire Pudding, and LightExpectations for your kind comments.

No one has called me "a young lad" in a very long time. I think that's a compliment, but I'm not sure.

Mama would be shocked to hear that the words "stunner" and "stunning" were used in reference to her. She always considered herself to be "the plain one" in her family because she had straight, "mousy-brown" hair (as she called it). All compliments were usually directed at her older sister (by 11 years) who had dark, naturally curly hair like their mother. And the sister had piano-playing talent, too (again, like their mother), while my mother said she always struggled. (I never quite believed her. A favorite story was that she had slaughtered Rachmaninoff's Prelude in C Sharp Minor at one piano recital. However, a considerable amount of talent is required even to attempt Rachmaninoff's Prelude in C Sharp Minor.)

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About me

has lived on earth for 76 years and has been married for 54 of those years to Ellie, his wife. They have two sons, one daughter, the appropriate assortment of in-laws, and six absolutely magnificent grandchildren. He enjoys reading, playing the piano, driving in the country, sitting by the ocean, watching birds fly, gazing into a roaring fire, holding his wife's hand, and spending time with his grandchildren. He doesn't fancy doing yard work, walking a dog who definitely is not in the mood, or cleaning up after one who is (RIP Jethro, 2004-2013).

Me, circa 2010 (with Mrs. RWP)

A reader in Oregon has requested a current photograph. For the thick of skull, I want to say that I am not exceedingly tall nor is Mrs. RWP exceedingly short. She is sitting in a chair; I am standing behind her and slightly to her right, your left. I am nothing if not thorough. Handsome and thorough. Exceedingly intelligent, very handsome, and thorough. I forgot humble.

Me, circa 1943

A few months before this photograph was taken, I fell through a hole in a chain link fence in New York City and landed on my head on a school’s cement playground that was six feet below sidewalk level. I had a brain concussion. Some people think this helps explain why I am the way I am today. Other people insist nothing can explain why I am the way I am today.

Poem by a Yorkshire Lad

Song for Lost Youth

Perhaps I should have cradled it
Like a dove
Kept it safe with tender love
But I squandered it -
Gushing-blundering-raging
Like a wild mountain stream
Desperate for an ocean
That was but a distant dream.
...I just never thought
That I could have loitered in the shallows
Reflecting the blueness of the sky
- Concealing silver fishes
- Quietly biding my time
- Stretching it out.
And so, and so it's gone now
- My ephemeral youth
- That precious once only gift
- That honeyed sweetness,
Leaving only the trembling resonance
Of distant echoes
From half-remembered hills.